


Birth of a Star

by HelenaKey



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Childhood Trauma, Daddy Issues, Dysfunctional Family, Explicit Consent, Feminization, Freudian Elements, Introspection, M/M, Not that Loki complains, Post-Thor: Ragnarok (2017), Power Play, Relationship Study, Telepathic Sex, The Grandmaster loves his lil trickster too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 09:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13004607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelenaKey/pseuds/HelenaKey
Summary: It was difficult, sometimes, not to feel like a toy; a pawn carelessly thrown into the Grandmaster's puzzling games.





	Birth of a Star

**Author's Note:**

> I am ashamed by the level of self-reflection that I put in this story. I generally do a lot of self-reflection with Loki, but I never thought I'd be able to do it with my unhealthy tendency of falling in love with smart, funny, and affectionate older guys. I'm still thankful to Jeff Goldblum for allowing it to happen. 
> 
> I had waaaay too much fun writting this, and even thought it's self-indulgent as fuck, I still think I treated some interesting subjects. I wanted to touch some aspects of power play and the (psychological) reasons behind it, and I think I managed to mix that very well with my headcanons about Loki's sexuality. Which are, uh, surprisingly feelsy, now that I think about it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the reading :)

There was something about the Grandmaster that Loki couldn’t quite put his finger on. Out of all the creatures he had come across in his travels throughout the Nine, he was hardly the most impressive one, upon first glance. With all his love for vamp glamour, his bright, eccentric personality and his appalling tendency towards nonchalance even in the direst situations, he had almost tricked Loki into thinking him a simpleton upon his arrival to Sakaar. A petty, hedonistic tyrant, with little grasp of the world or people surrounding him, unless they served him somehow to fulfill his desires.

It didn’t take him long to realize, however, that beneath all the layers of carelessness, high living and queer superficiality, there was a mystery to unravel. He wanted to know what this strange, ancient creature was truly made of; how a man that had been there to witness the birth of the galaxies; to feel the warmth of blooming suns bathe his skin and catch the faint glow of the first stars in the deep darkness of creation, could contain inside him such a wealth of cheery emotion. Because Loki had seen the way his father had withered away under the weight of his years, how his face grew long and tired, and his once kind blue eyes turned to a greyish steel, and he’d understood that time took emotion out of men; made them cold and detached from the world they lived in. And yet, with all the years that set them apart, the Grandmaster seemed to feel more than him; as though he were moved by a bigger, dazzling force that through the passage of times and spaces remained untouched.

The mad ruler of Sakaar was the hazy sketch of a persona that existed only for the sake of playing insurgents and protecting power; an instrument that the Grandmaster used both as a diversion and a political tactic. But sometimes, in privacy, Loki thought he saw glimpses of a simpler creature, ridden by pleasures as harmless as well-tailored clothing, good evening entertainment and slow, upbeat music. He could hear the lulling songs of early sorceries humming beneath time-worn skin; could taste loneliness and desperation in the corners of his mouth as he traced it with a warm tongue; feel the way his mind overflowed the confines of its physical boundaries, touching Loki's with a wild, almost aching emotion. The Grandmaster was a lover of beauty, pleasure and sex, insensitive to shame or self-control when it came to satisfying his desire; but he could also be kind in his touch; careful in the way he explored Loki's naked body - his hands prodding at soft, vulnerable places to tease, but rarely to hurt.

The Grandmaster tasted of knowledge and stardust, and his big, brown eyes glowed with a hidden power that made Loki feel helpless and exposed; malleable in the hands of a creature who could crush him like a bug if he so desired, but for some reason had decided not to. He couldn't say he disliked the sensation. Since he was but a boy, love had always been a feeling immediately tailed by fear and respect; a hint of expectation to the incoming blow when his bigger, easily angered brother took a sudden step forwards; a sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach at finding disappointment in the face of his cold, hard to please father. But the Grandmaster never striked him; never so much as raised his voice when Loki trashed and screamed over petty, unimportant matters, or when the most petulant, spoiled part of him came to the surface to turn him insensitive and unkind. He smiled bemusedly, as thought facing the silly outburst of an angry child, and when things got dire and the room started to get ablaze, stood up calmly to leave his lover boy to his raggings.

It was difficult, sometimes, not to feel like a toy; a pawn carelessly thrown into the Grandmaster's puzzling games. Loki was used to holding all the cards, to being the one to make all the decisions, but when it came to this man he was painfully aware of the fact that it was impossible for him to remain in control. He felt vulnerable in a way he had never felt before, and the sensation seemed to follow him wherever he went. Sex was an endless cycle of tension, fear and gratification; a need to offer release and to please that expressed itself in steady commands, soft encouragings and quick, demeaning slaps. In the past, no one had ever been able appeal to Loki in this way; to have him gasping and breathing hard and staring up with eyes blown wide. No one had ever looked at him as though he were their whole world; as though he held the answer to all the secrets of the universe in the corners of his mouth, in the flick of soft, gentle hands or the map of light freckles across his back. Nothing had ever felt more satisfying than this; to nurse a man's pleasure in expense of his own; to put every fiber of his being in the rotation of his hips, the clenching of his muscles or the flick of his tongue around hard flesh.

It was almost a relief when he realized that the Grandmaster wouldn't mock him for his queer attitudes in the bedroom; that he wouldn't take advantage of his need to find validation in his lovers, or coerce him into doing things he didn't want to in order to obtain it. He felt strangely calm the first time he was tied down; lulled by the way the Grandmaster straddled the back of his thighs and rubbed his tense muscles, willing him to calm down before starting. That night he was taken from behind, roughly and with little preparation, and the Grandmaster didn't bat an eye at the way Loki's enthusiasm wasn't deterred by the slight pain but enhanced. He said nothing about the way he writhed beneath him and against the mattress, searching for the pleasure he yearned for and that was been denied to him, or about the small, strangled noise he made when he was spanked for it. He kissed him afterwards, and rubbed their noses together as he told him how good he'd been; how proud he was of him; and Loki had to look away so he wouldn't see the water gathering at the corners of his eyes.

There was no one in all the Nine Realms for whom Loki would have stopped to consider such a request, but when the Grandmaster lightly touched his cheek one rainy afternoon, his deep, starry eyes glowing with unmasked admiration, and asked him if he could do his makeup, he found himself saying yes with not nearly enough prompting. He allowed him to paint his mouth with a subtle pink gloss that left a strawberry taste behind, and sharpen his gaze with black mascara, green shadows and a golden eyeliner. Loki's eyes stung as his eyebrows were puckered and he struggled not to complain, trying to focus instead in the warmth of deft fingers carefully exploring his face. The bit of flush over his cheeks was more like a quick, last minute thing to keep him from looking too pale with the color contrast. A still strong, irrational part of Loki's mind feared the mocking - heart beating slightly faster at the idea of anyone seeing him adopting this strange, unmanly appearance. He had been tormented by his Asgardian peers for far graver transgressions against his masculinity; such innocuous things as his body complexion, his love for reading and his talents for magic had been a reason of taunting, back then. The Grandmaster said nothing of it, though. He took him by the hand with bright, almost childish enthusiasm and led him to the closets mirror, prompting him to open his eyes to stare at the final result.

Loki didn't love it. The makeup felt heavy and awkward over the skin of his face, and there was something about the enhancement of his features through shadows and flushes that made him feel inadequate - somehow vulgar. Distantly, a treacherous part of his mind wondered what his mother would say, if she were to see him like this. He turned to look at the Grandmaster, not knowing what he expected to find, and was taken aback by the blistering flame of desire clouding his big, brown eyes. Taken aback by the way his hands travelled sinuously down his body, searching for the warm flesh beneath Loki's robes; by the reverence in his love-making, rough as it could be, when he straddled Loki's thighs to trap his mouth in a slow, feverish kiss.

He could hear the Grandmaster's breathing turning deeper and harsher above him, wild, mischievous magic sparkling in his fingertips as he traced invisible lines over Loki's bare chest. He could taste the euphoric sweetness of his convulsed thoughts as their minds mingled together, drowning in a sea of sensation that made the physical world fade in the background. He could feel the primal, insatiable hunger the Grandmaster felt at the sight of him, and this absurd, overwhelming, unfathomable _affection_ as he entered his body in a heady, tortuously slow thrusting. And Loki didn't know what to do with that, because he had never meant so much to someone, and there was still in him this crippling, childish fear of failure that made him wonder if he would be able to meet the expectations.

"Oh, _stars._ " The Grandmaster said, warm breath ghosting over Loki's ear as he was turned around on the armchair to stare right into his lover's eyes. "You look so beautiful like this."

Loki stayed oddly silent, shifting his legs to push his lower body upwards - gripping at the Grandmaster's waist with a force that would have broken the bones of a lesser being. A large, wrinkly hand surrounded his cock in a loose hold that left him trembling with need and anticipation - nails and fingertips tracing the sensitive skin in a silent promise. "You _always_ look so beautiful..." His lover amended, passing his long, warm tongue across Loki's exposed neck - pushing slightly against that soft place where his pulse could be felt. "And you are all mine. Every flush, every gasp, every little sound you make when you lose yourself in the pleasure I give - it's all _mine_." The Grandmaster said, and Loki could have melted at the animal roughness of his voice - at the dark, erotic feeling that came with the idea of been so thoughtfully owned. A silent hand traveled through the muscles of his back to bury itself in his hair, and the Grandmaster pulled him forwards as he ravaged his mouth - a hard, possessive edge to his kiss that made a brief spurt of cum gush out of Loki's cock.

The Grandmaster's usually cheerful, controlled demeanor began to crack, thrusting into the warmth of Loki's body with such a force that the armchair fell to the floor with them still in top of it - the light wrinkles around his eyes enhanced by the look of wanton concentration that crossed his features as he refused to stop, even then. The pressure around Loki's member tightened - a long, hard, thoughtful stroking that went from the engorged tip of it to the heavy swelling of his balls. He felt aroused in a basic, desperate, mind-numbing kind of way - his skin prickling anxiously in the few parts of his body still covered by the light green robe, never fully retired and stained by a thin layer of sweat. He wondered, briefly, if this was the sight of him that appealed to his lover the most - Loki flushed and gasping beneath him, covered in fine jewelry and expensive silks, face and hair styled in a queer, womanly fashion that made him look like the incarnation of sin. The thought only added fuel to the obscure, morbid pleasure overwhelming the core of his being, threatening to spill over and burn out the little reasoning he still had.

The Grandmaster squeezed him in one last hard, lethargic stroke, and Loki came on his hand with a silent shout, looking almost dazed as sloppy, open-mouthed kisses were pressed against the pale skin of his collarbone. He relished, for a few more minutes, in the feeling of a warm, swollen intrusion entering and exiting his body, pushing at every soft, pliant wall inside him. At last, he was overflowed by something hot and viscous - the body above him turning loose, pressing against him with a sigh that spoke of content satisfaction. The Grandmaster allowed his weight to rest over his lover's bare chest, and despite the uncomfortable layer of perspiration that now coated his skin, making his touch awkward and sticky, Loki made no move to push him away.

He locked his ankles behind the Grandmaster's waist and surrounded his neck with his arms, refusing (even as the gesture was meet with an knowing, amused smile) to acknowledge the fact that he had wrapped him between his limbs in such a fashion to keep him from moving away. He felt at home there - surrounded by the warmth of a body that had probably been a sight worthy of admiration many centuries ago, but now seemed somehow deflated; strong and capable, but sweetly soft around the edges. He felt safe in the lingering tastes of starlight, in the low humming of ancient power against his naked skin, and the cold, unfathomable hand of immortality soothingly reaching into his mind. The Grandmaster lazily licked the skin of his neck, searching for that salty taste that sweat usually left behind; murmuring strange, sweet things at his ear and calling him pet and holding him impossible close, and Loki realized, belatedly, that for once home was not something to run away from, but something to hold on to and never, _ever_ let go.


End file.
